Jason Cimon

click on the picture to see more I take from touring.



Jason Cimon is creating a sound exemplary of Southern youth and yearning, pulling emotion from the Tupelo soil and implanting it in his sound. The classically trained 22-year-old is on the front lines of a slow revolution in Southern music—one of a new generation poised to arrest the attention of not only the nation, but perhaps the entire world.



The son of a military man, Cimon never developed any real concept of “hometown” or had the luxury of a best friend to confide in. Instead, he poured his stories into his songs. From the earliest age, Cimon found stability and solace in his music and the deeply personal quality is still a trademark of his writing, lending the impression that you are listening in on a private confession every time you hear one of his songs.



Nearly nine years ago, Cimon’s family moved to Itawamba County in northeastern Mississippi, a location whose influence is obviously ever present in his work. After a stint in the crust punk scene of Tupelo, Cimon graduated high school and went on to attend a small area college as a music major where he has specialized in orchestral percussion, studied string bass and piano, and harbored a secret wish of becoming an opera tenor.



Taking into consideration the sometimes desperate climate of destitution found in much of Mississippi, it’s no wonder Cimon has decided to take advantage of the narrow window of opportunity afforded him to support himself doing what he loves. His acoustic guitar accompanied by the hollow thud of a tapping foot showcase both the wicked urgency and seeping reflective qualities of his upbringing and the place he has come to call home. Many are already comparing him to the likes of Jeff Buckley, Damien Rice, or, as one fan noted “Rufus Wainright if he were from New Orleans.”



These days, he’s going for broke—opting to tour continually as opposed to settling into the vicious rhythm of Southern domesticity which has consumed so many of his peers. Throwing a suitcase and guitar into the back of his ’89 Toyota and taking off alone is an easier reality for the nouveau Mariachi.—Rachel Drinkard



You want to know what Mississippi does to musicians? This is what: It lends a frantic, classic urgency teetering on the edge of despair. A sense of place and strong character that you don't come across every day. A tragic beauty that happens of its own accord when your guitar and your voice are all you have in the whole big world and serve as a constant reminder that if you don't make your music work for you this time, if you don't take advantage of this narrow window of opportunity, you're done. Because it's this or stapling cotton batting to couch frames in a factory.



Jason Cimon is an on-again off-again music major at a college outside of Tupelo, MS. He's never listened to a Jeff Buckley song all the way through, but it's obvious that the same things that once drove and inspired Buckley now do the same for Cimon.



His recordings are rough, one take numbers done in friends' bedrooms and bathrooms. After a few listens, you realize this is the only way they could be, though. A polished, clean studio rendition would only serve to obliterate the spirit behind the music.



Cimon sets out on the first leg of a summer tour later this week, heading in a general northeasterly direction in his Toyota with enough money in his pocket to make it to his first stop and a guitar in the back seat.



Buy some merch and help put gas in his car so he can make his next date. Bring him some vegan-friendly food and a Dr. Pepper and make a new best friend.



Listen to more Jason Cimon here.



courtesy of scenestars.net



opening hearts and clearing minds.